The Hearts That Bruise
by meganface
Summary: Her eyes aren't the only thing Mandy got from her mother.


Mandy had these red sunglasses. They were heart-shaped and stupid and she used to love them too much. Her mom won them for her when they went to Coney Island that one time after one of her dad's drug-runs went really well. Mandy can't remember much of the trip. Just the taste of cotton-candy and sticky, sweet fingers and the sound of happiness.

At times she wonders if she imagined it; if it ever really fucking happened at all. The vague images of her mom smiling, long hair billowing out, blowing in the wind seem too perfect to be memories. Her brothers and her dad couldn't possibly go two whole days without one of their arguments turning into a fistfight. Shit like that just didn't happen.

But Mandy still kept those glasses, wouldn't leave the house without them for a week.

...

The first boy Mandy spreads her legs for laughs when he sees them.

He says, "You're fourteen, why the fuck d'you have these?", whilst fiddling with the red plastic.

There's a crack in one of the lenses now. And that's, like, symbolism or something, right? 'Cause Mandy's mom is dead and her dad is full of hate and booze and her brothers don't give a shit about anything anymore and that memory, that sugary smell of candy, the screaming laughter filling her ears, is getting harder to remember.

But Mandy only smirks and says, "Are you fucking me or not?"

And later, when she's hiding the glasses at the back of her drawer filled with thongs and bras that don't quite fit her right, the ache between her legs won't be nearly as bad as the pain in her chest.

...

For a long time, the glasses are forgotten about. They remain hidden, locked away, as her dad gets more aggressive and her brothers grow dangerous - stints in juvie served liked fucking rites of passage. They're Milkoviches, though, so Mandy figures jail is exactly that.

Whatever the dumb bits of plastic once meant to her - well, they're meaningless now. Like the guys who fuck her then leave; the guys who make her wonder if she makes her mom happy to have given birth to her. Bitterness tainting her thoughts, she thinks whether her mom would be proud of what a pretty little slut she has grown into. If it'd piss her off that Mandy doesn't even do it for drugs or for money. Not like she did.

Mandy doesn't think about the trip, when her mom smiled like it came naturally to her. It's barely even a memory anymore. In its place there are images of dark red splatters on the floor, bloody mouths and even bloodier knuckles; guns and knives and shovels; empty bottles of jack and gin and her dad passed out on the couch.

...

A girl at school calls Mandy a slut one Friday. It isn't the first time and it won't be the last, but it is the first time it actually _hurts_ her. She's lighting a cigarette with the lighter she jacked from Ian yesterday morning and forgot to give back and nearly burns her thumb when the girl says it.

"Y'know, it's winter, bitch. Stop being such a fucking slut and put on some pants." She's a grade above Mandy, called Amy, reminds her of Regina George, only less pretty. The girls with her laugh and then they're walking away and Mandy hasn't even said anything back, hasn't threatened them like she usually would, or grabbed a hold of Amy's hair, roughed her up.

The words sink in.

Mandy toys with her skirt: simple, a little short and black with red stitching. It was her mom's. Mandy found it this morning as she looked for something clean to wear and it was balled up at the bottom of her wardrobe. She froze when she saw it, images of her mom wearing it one Christmas, moving her slim hips to the music from the radio.

No idea how it got there, Mandy grabbed the skirt, slipped it on and didn't think about how perfectly it fit her.

Her cigarette is almost burnt down to the filter when Ian bumps up against her side, asking her what's wrong.

"Nothing," Mandy answers with a fake smile. She hikes her bag up higher. "Come on, you promised me we'd get high today."

Ian smirks, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, saying maybe the pot will make her tell him what's actually going on.

Mandy won't tell him, won't tell anyone, but she says, "Yeah, sure", anyway.

...

Getting involved with Lip-fucking-Gallagher was a huge mistake, and Mandy was stupid to not see that. So stupid. She was stupid to not see that he was still head over heels for that fucking bitch, like she hung the moon or something. Did he forget what she did to him?

Whatever. After all she's done for Lip, Mandy thinks she deserves a little better. She applied to colleges for him, helped him out around the house, did his fucking laundry. All Karen did was break him.

And thinking back on the shit she's said to him, Mandy feels embarrassed, pathetic. Because she said that nobody's treated her as good as he did. In retrospect she realises that he never was that good to her, probably never even wanted her there. She's a good fuck, end of; it makes her angry that she thought Lip saw more than that, thought_ she_ was more than that.

She laughs bitterly to herself, emptying out the draw she keeps her underwear in into her bag, not really concentrating on her actions, just desperate to get out of here before Lip gets back.

The wedding yesterday was - Mandy was expecting a lot of things to down, but finding out that Ian and Mickey are, like, together? That was not one of them. And she can't even find it in herself to worry about Lip knowing what she did; if he was planning on telling the cops, he would've by now.

She just - there was too much to process, still is, and all she wants is to pack her shit and leave this fucking house as quickly as possible. Debbie and Carl are home with Liam and she knows Ian will be back soon, Lip and Fiona, too. Being here for that is something she just can't do.

Lip's t-shirt, the one with the periodic table on, the one she wore at night sometimes, is at the foot of the bed. Chewing her thumbnail, Mandy stares at it and hates her stupid heart for beating so fast. She throws the thing in her bag, because she's too sentimental for her own good, before checking she has everything and leaving the room.

Walking down to the stairs is awful, seeing stray toys belonging to Liam, random sneakers Ian's neglected to tidy away and will result in Fiona shouting at him for it, and a big pink marker belonging to Debbie. Mandy can't believe she allowed herself to get this close to the Gallaghers, as if that's a fucking thing she does.

She hurries down the stairs. Too fast; as she turns the corner for the backdoor she knocks her bag against the wall, hard, sending it to the floor and half of her things scattered about.

"Fuck," she whispers, dropping to her knees and picking up socks and t-shirts, a couple bras bundled together. A flash of red catches her eye and she sees a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses. Pausing, she squints at them, wondering how they got mixed in with her things.

And then it dawns on her and she feels like she's going to throw up. Hotdogs and toffee apples and arcade pinball and happy smiles. Her mom alive.

She's angry, so fucking angry: for keeping the glasses, for forgetting about them, for her mom winning them for her in the first place. For her mom leaving her all alone, fucking up their family even more.

A wrecked sob leaves her mouth and she's surprised to find that there are tears in her eyes. Like, is she seriously about to cry about this shit? That only stands to fuel her anger and she snatches up the glasses and breaks them in half with a satisfying snap, her heart pounding.

"Man'y."

Mandy turns her head, sees Liam standing two feet in front of her, hand on the leg of the kitchen tab and grinning. He points to the glasses in her hands and makes questioning noises, like he's asking what they are.

She smiles at him, sees all this naïve innocence, ignorance that will fade in time, but hasn't yet left. Shuffling closer to him, she feels a tear fall down her cheek, but she ignores it, instead accepts Liam's hug and holds onto him.

When she pulls back, he's transfixed on the two hearts in Mandy's hand. "Want 'em?" she asks, not really expecting an answer. But Liam's giggle is enough to have her putting the pieces into his tiny hands then kissing his cheek.

She stands up and gets her bag, zips it up and leaves; back to her house, back to the fights and the weapons and the ever-present emptiness that her mom ought to be filling. Honestly, it's where she belongs.


End file.
